


Bleed and Burn

by misskatieleigh



Series: the normal life is an illusion [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, written after season 3 aired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-19
Updated: 2007-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been eight years since the last time he saw her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> **moving a bunch of stuff from LJ. this is not a new work.**

It’s been eight years since the last time he saw her face. Eight _long_ years, but the moment is passing – he’s lost too much blood and he doesn’t even know how they made it onto the doorstep of the girl he never meant to love. He looks at her once before his eyes close and darkness takes over, a shout of voices ringing through his ears but all he wants is to stay in this dream.

When Dean opens his eyes again the world is foggy, blurred like he needs glasses even though his vision has always been perfectly honed; just one more weapon in the Winchester armory. He blinks twice, focusing on the lamp that’s hanging overhead until it becomes crystal clear. The ceiling’s too high up for this to be a motel room and he can hear Sam breathing somewhere nearby so they must be somewhere safe.

Vision intact once more, Dean twists his head to the side, taking in the surroundings lit only by the moonlight through the window across the room. They’re in an apartment – near the city he assumes, since they were hunting some spirit in Boston before he got hit and Sam wouldn’t have taken him far with the amount of blood he was losing. The place is small and sparsely furnished but everything seems well taken care of. He can see Sam now, laid out on the sofa with his legs dangling over one arm and while Dean knows he must have been exhausted after the hunt, he’s still not sure how his brother can possibly sleep like that.

The hand that brushes across his forehead surprises him – he should have heard her coming – but what really shocks him is the face that comes into focus. . It’s been eight years, but he could never forget this girl; his only attempt at normal. Not that he was all that great at the whole boyfriend deal, but he hadn’t wanted it to end at the time.

Dean’s voice creaks a bit, his throat dry and scratchy – still tinged with the sleep he just dragged himself out of.

“Amy?”

Her hands are cool, fingers brushing across his arm like a question.

“Hey, Dean. You feelin’ better?”

His mind is spinning – trying to connect the way things are today with how they were before and only managing to get the signals crossed. He has the urge to kiss her but eight years is a little long between visits for him to make any sort of assumptions. He swallows thickly, trying to get his voice working right before he makes any more of a fool of himself.

“Uh. I’m okay, I think. What’re… I mean, how’d I get here?”

Amy smiles a bit, her lips curving up the same way he remembers and it’s so familiar that it takes everything in him to not lean up and see if she still tastes the same, too. Thankfully, Sam and his impeccable timing choose that moment to wake up with a groan that sounds something like _‘ohmyfuckinbackwhatwasIthinking’_ and it makes her look at him and laugh. Dean remembers exactly the way that used to feel against his skin.

Willpower is overrated anyways.

\--- --- --- 

 

Sam takes his time, stretching and complaining about the ache so Dean lies back in the bed and relaxes. He still feels tired, like everything’s just a bit out of focus, but he figures that it must be a side effect of the blood loss. Either that or they drugged him. It doesn’t matter, really; he’s much more concerned with the fact that Amy’s hand is still resting on his arm.

He can smell her perfume, the scent barely lingering on her clothes and skin. It’s different from before, less sweet and more musk. More adult. Deep down he realizes that this isn’t the Amy Warner from eight years ago; she’s grown up and she’s got her own life here outside the city. He’s not sure how Sam knew where to find her, if they’d kept in touch since that day they’d all said goodbye or if it’s just random chance.

He closes his eyes and lets sleep wash over him again. There will be time for explanations in the morning.

\--- --- --- 

The sound of conversation breaks through the haze of sleep bit by bit, bringing Dean out of his dreams and into the reality of the soft bed he’s sleeping in. Sam’s talking to Amy, low murmurs that he’s not meant to hear. Parts of sentences stand out in the morning air though, too distinct to be ignored.

_“S’too hard Sam. I can’t be near him like this.”_

_“Wish things could have been different but I can’t make him change. I won’t pretend this is what he wants.”_

Somewhere inside his heart he’s screaming because he _did_ want this; he’d wanted what they had eight years ago. But he doesn’t let himself want things like that anymore. There’s too much at stake, too much to lose if he ties himself to something – to _someone_ like that. She’s right, though; it’s hard to be this close to something that he’d wanted so badly once upon a time.

He doesn’t believe in happily ever after. There’s always something else that threatens, always something else to hunt.

\--- --- --- 

He can tell she’s keeping her distance, putting Sam between them like a buffer, something to break the surface tension. Eventually, though, Sam needs a break and goes to take a shower, leaving the two of them alone to talk. Dean doesn’t miss the pointed look his brother throws in his direction before the bathroom door closes.

He’s sitting up in the bed now, the neat row of stitches over his ribs visible above the sheets pooling at his waist. He thinks that he probably ought to put a shirt on, but he needs help for that so he doesn’t tear the wound open again. Amy’s sitting at the table, her hands curling loosely around the cup of coffee she’s been nursing all morning. She looks out of the window, at the paper – anywhere but at him.

Dean groans a little as he climbs out of the bed, muscles screaming in protest at the movement. Let them scream; this is Dean Winchester on a mission.

Amy freezes for a moment when his hand touches her back, finally peeking up at him through a fall of hair as he sits across from her at the table. He doesn’t really know where to start. After all, Sam’s the heart-to-heart kind of guy in the family.

Dean touches her hand, untangling her fingers from the mug and tracing the familiar line on her wrist. He can feel her relax a little, his fingers slipping from wrist to elbow in soft strokes. He looks up, watches her eyes following the movement of his fingers. It’s quiet in the apartment, save for the sound of the water running in the shower and their breathing.

Dean doesn’t know the right words; he’s only good with actions so he kisses her. And she tastes the same as she did then, soft and open under his mouth for just a second before she starts to pull away. She pushes against his chest and he can taste the tears streaking down her cheeks before he even sees them.

“Please, Dean. Don’t do this to me.”

And those few words are all it takes for him to remember exactly how much it hurt to leave her the first time.

“I’m sorry.”

He knows it’s not enough.  



End file.
